


At Your Service

by Sparcina



Series: Iron Webs to Covet [14]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Lab on the go, Lord Peter - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Misunderstandings, Older Peter, Oral Sex, Pining, Possessive Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Time Accident, Time Travel, Welcome to the 17th century, massage oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: A time incident sends Tony and Peter back to the 1600s. It isn't so bad there,then. Peter gets mistaken for the local lord's long-lost son, and Tony can hole up in the barn to work on their ticket home.It could be worse.In which Tony's To-Do List ('Going back to the future' and 'Strangling Strange with his cape') lengthens to include 'Keeping Peter safe by giving him a massage'.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Iron Webs to Covet [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/779883
Comments: 12
Kudos: 158
Collections: Short August Medieval Exchange 2020





	At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HogwartsToAlexandria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/gifts).



> Dear recip, here’s a story for you! I tried to incorporate as many items from your request as I could. You’ve got “magic gone wrong that takes them to a time way past” and “massaging oils” from your list of prompts. There’s “sex, friend to lovers, and role reversals” from your list of likes. At your service,  
> \--- Your partner for this exchange.
> 
> My lovely betas: **Sapphic_Futurist** and **Succubus Kayko**. A thousand thanks!
> 
> Re-dated for author reveals. Sorry if you've seen it already!

“Being stuck in the early 1600s really isn’t so bad, Mr. Stark.”

Tony glanced up from his makeshift workstation, a wisp of straw hanging from his mouth. “Speak for yourself, kid.” 

He munched on the hay with purpose. Dentistry wasn’t what it would be. Besides, there were interesting side effects, like drawing Peter’s attention to his mouth. 

The kid stepped closer. ‘Kid’ wasn’t as good a descriptor as it used to be, but it helped keep the fantasies at bay. Tony didn’t have time to try and guess how Peter would like him to use his mouth. Tony’s mouth, that is. On Peter. And yet here he was again, daydreaming instead of working on their ticket back home.

Not far off, the horse who technically had first claim to the box gave a loud snort, as if it could sense his distraction. Tony shot him a meaningful glare. At least it had refrained from kicking him in the head so far. Tony was thankful. He kind of needed his head to get them out of this untimely mess.

Peter fumbled with the laces at the collar of his tunic. That, too, was giving Tony plenty of ideas.

“I think you meant to say ‘my Lord’.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“What, the local misunderstanding?”

“More like the locals’ confusion,” Tony quipped back, and smiled briefly around the straw. “If anything, I should have been made lord of this land.”

“It’s not exactly my fault you don’t look like the lord’s long-lost son.”

Outside the barn, someone called out for said lord’s son. With an apologetic shrug, Peter set down the basket of food he insisted on bringing every day and made his way back to whichever servant had been sent to fetch him. 

Tony spat out the straw and stretched out, fingertips brushing against the wooden ceiling of the barn. God, but that straw tasted foul. He’d never exactly been a fan of Colgate, but fuck, did he miss the luxury of toothpaste. And the round-the-clock availability of his chiropractor. He rubbed at his eyes and left the stall. 

“If you’re nice, you’ll get something,” he called over his shoulder to the horse, and settled down to eat. 

There was meat, today. Nice. Meat wasn’t exactly a rare fare, but Peter usually had more trouble sneaking some out of the kitchens. Half a fresh loaf—a gigantic one, at that—covered three apples and a generous handful of grapes. Cheese lay at the bottom. Tony unwrapped it and gave it a tentative sniff. Ah, he liked that one. Just the right side of smelly. Which was saying something, in this place and time where hygiene wasn’t a concept yet. He didn’t envy Peter. Those sensitive senses of his must drive him up the wall.

It could have been worse, he supposed. For one, they could have ended way back, like before-the-wheel-was-invented back. Or even just three centuries further in the past, when Yersinia pestis was killing people by the hundred thousand.

They could have been split up.

The thought filled Tony with a familiar dread. He was going to strangle Strange with his funny little cloak as soon as he figured out a way back. They were supposed to have landed in 1961, not 1621. How hard could it be? They’d gone and collected stones that could tear apart the fabric of the universe itself, for fuck’s sake. Time was not that complicated. 

Really, things weren’t so dire. He just had to keep an eye on Peter. Or both. Sadly, it wasn’t exactly easy, with how everyone in the village worshiped the ground Peter walked on. Not that they shouldn’t venerate the kid—Tony wasn’t enough of a hypocrite to throw stones when he was first in line to shower Peter with praise—but it made the whole protecting thing challenging, because, well, let’s put it this way: the locals liked Tony a lot less. 

Peter had taken well enough to the role bestowed upon him. And while he lived in much-better conditions, Tony didn’t envy him. The kid had to spend hours playing the game without giving the obvious away, every single day. He’d managed to wave the amnesia card without raising suspicions pretty much every time he’d taken a misstep and he’d always been a quick learner. Of course he was doing spectacularly.

Tony was glad to go mostly unnoticed, even though the horse’s box wasn’t exactly his first choice for a lab-on-the-go. Being no one meant that no one else ever noticed he was gone for days on end, be it to work on time travel or rub one off. So far, so good.

Except for one thing: he couldn’t check on the kid at night. Peter slept in the castle, whereas Tony had to make do at the local Straw & Rats. One would expect it to be safer, there, but a castle meant lots of people, and it was inevitable, really, that some of them would want to get in Peter’s sinfully tight breeches. He was a lord’s son, sure, but more importantly, he was very, very pretty. Peter had assured him that he didn’t need to ‘beat them off with a stick’, but what if there was someone even remotely clever in that bunch, and Peter wasn’t wary enough? He might be stronger than the average superhuman and able to listen to a dragonfly licking its own wings, but he wasn’t immune to everything. He could still be manipulated. Coerced. Gaslit.

Tony felt the bottom of his stomach drop. Since Peter’s arrival/return to the castle, he’d tried to break in three times. Respectively: by the armory, the kitchens, and then a guest-chamber full of spider webs—not Peter’s—and mice. He’d almost gotten speared that last time, and Peter had urged him to keep a low profile, only partly so that his bruised back would have time to heal.

Tony didn’t know how to do that, but he gave it a try. Thanks to some incredible coincidence, Peter was a famous local’s look-alike, and was thus being treated as well as this backwater era allowed it. He got to eat his fill, sleep in a comfortable bed, and learn history in situ. He was as safe as could be.

But what if something happened while Tony wasn’t there?

*

Something happened when he wasn’t there.

It was with great satisfaction that Tony bullshited his way inside the castle. Stealing the right clothes and being his insufferably arrogant self had done the trick. If he’d known he could walk through the front gates just by shaving, wearing decent clothes, and lying through his teeth, he’d have done it on the first try. In his defense, he’d been distracted by technology many centuries ahead and low-key planning his revenge on the local master of the guard, who’d threatened him at sword point because he was being ‘too friendly with the lord’s son’. 

Hence the thief-in-the-night routine.

It didn’t matter anymore. He’d figured how to send them back to the 21st century, and in about five minutes, Peter would follow him out of this castle and down—up?—that space-time tunnel once more.

He pushed the door to Peter’s room with a grin. “Hey, Pe—”

And walked on the kind of scene that fed both his wet dreams and worse nightmares.

“I said ‘no’, thank you.”

A hairy man a head taller and twice as large as Peter had backed him up in a corner of the bedroom. To Tony’s relief, the kid looked annoyed rather than afraid. He was also holding a vial of some sort, but that wasn’t what made Number 2 on the List of Things Necessitating Tony’s Immediate Attention. 

No. That would be Peter’s naked chest. And the wet hair dripping down his shoulders, presumably from a recent bath. But, mostly his chest. Taut nipples that begged to be sucked. An enticing line of brown hair, very faint, trailing down the cutest belly button. All in all, a vision of pale, flawless skin flushed a delicious shade of pink.

Tony might have waxed some more poetry in his own head if not for the bearded asshole currently standing between him and his muse. The sudden surge of anger-panic-desire settled on anger, and he stepped forwards with his bare hands curled into fists. Fuck his ribs. Fuck discretion, too. He was going to punch this son of a bitch through the window and finally work out that latent trauma dating back to the first Chitauri invasion. The absence of glass on that frame was practically an invitation.

In the end, he reined in the urge—but only because Peter was making very unsubtle signs at him. Slamming the door shut behind him, he cleared his throat. 

“You called for me, my lord?”

“I, er…”

The bald man leveled Tony with a glare for a solid three seconds. He really was tall. And big. And beardy. Tony didn’t want to think of the ecosystem growing in there, so he spent the next few seconds going through all his boxing lessons with Happy instead. 

“Y-Yes, I do,” Peter tried again with more conviction. “Had, I mean. Did.” Peter’s face made a complicated thing that seemed to encompass the whole range of emotions known to the human heart. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Sir.”

“He’s the one you choose for your massage?” Bald Asshat asked incredulously, sneering in contempt. “Are you not satisfied with my skills, Your Lordship? This... man has not the required strength—”

Peter stiffened. “This man can provide the service I require, thank you.”

“This man would ask you to leave now,” Tony chimed in faux sweetly.

The moment the giant had left the premises, Peter slid all the bolts into place and pressed his brow against the thick wood with a relieved sigh. Tony crossed his arms, anger and desire still warring for his attention. The panic was gone, at least. Peter was safe—or safer, at the very least. Tony was here with him, ready to tap on the housing unit and call on the suit at a moment’s notice. All the anachronisms in the world didn’t matter when Peter’s life was at stake.

Or his virtue.

Tony looked very pointedly at Peter’s boots. They were nice, if smelly leather was something you liked. It must be even worse for Peter. The kid’s nose had always been sensitive…

… alongside a whole bunch of other senses, which was not something Tony was going to consider right now, with a half-naked Peter within his reach. Still, he had to know. Probably because he was a masochist at heart. 

“What skills?” 

“What are you doing here?” Peter whispered furiously back. “You could have gotten yourself—”

“I talked my way in. Fewer risks to my health.” Tony held out one hand, forestalling any other concern. “I had something of a eureka moment earlier, regarding our trip. Now tell me: what skills?”

Against his better judgment, he lifted his chin to check on Peter’s reaction and was graced by the sight of a blushing young man. Heat uncoiled in his gut. He shoved his hands in his pockets before he could card them through Peter’s tousled hair—or splay there at his nape and yank him in for a dirty, thorough kiss.

“It would seem that my look-alike enjoyed... massages,” Peter confessed without looking at him. In his mouth, the word massage sounded like the most inappropriate thing. “At least, that’s what that man calls it.”

“And what’s this?”

Peter wiggled the small vial. “This? Massage oil, I suppose.” He uncorked it before Tony could warn him. “Smells... okay, I guess. Legit.” He shrugged. “Not that I plan to use it.”

He went to the bedside table and set it there with a forlorn look, the instant of hesitation almost unnoticeable. 

“You should go lie down.”

Tony had no idea why those words came out of his mouth. Or rather, he wasn’t sure if he should blame the lack of sleep, the subpar living conditions, the latent adrenaline, or too many dreams pumped full of Peter’s wet kisses and lovely moans.

Peter’s shoulders tensed. 

“W-What for?”

Tony really wished he could see his face. “Well.” He tugged at his not-quite-fashionable goatee. “I need an excuse to stay and discussing the solution to time travel won’t cut it.” He should stop there, abort, abort, fucking abort the bullshit, but the words tumbled from his lips without his permission. “Besides, don’t you need someone to provide that service for you, my lord?”

Tony absolutely didn’t mean it like that, but Peter shivered—a full-body shiver culminating on a soft, quiet gasp. The kid turned around then. He looked… a little dazzled. Was it the sheer brashness of the suggestion that got to him? The downright seductive tone Tony used when he called him by his title? 

The way Tony himself must have looked right now, hungry and unable to hide it? 

“You can t-tell me about your breakthrough in a minute.”

The precise shade of determination darkening Peter’s eyes had only graced Tony’s best dreams so far. His throat went dry. He caught the vial the kid tossed him one-handed and pulled out the cork with practiced ease, resolutely not thinking about how else this oil might be used.

His heart hammered in his chest as he watched Peter take off his boots and lie down on his front, willing and trusting, perfect. He unlaced his own boots as fast as he could before joining Peter on the bed. For a moment, he was half-convinced he was still asleep in the barn, face buried in wet straw, living the dream outside of the constraints of reality, but no, there was no horse nuzzling at his hair, only oil seeping through his fingers and a very, very real Peter squirming on the mattress.

With a low curse, he tilted the vial back up and set it aside, rubbing the oil into his palms. It smelled nothing like the high-end massage oils in his bedside table several centuries in the future, but it’d do.

“Might be a tad cold,” he said, before something a lot more revealing, and a lot less appropriate, could slip.

Not that there was anything appropriate about throwing his leg over the kid’s butt and straddling the back of his thighs, but he’d never pretended to be a good man. 

Here goes nothing.

He fanned his palms across Peter’s shoulder blades, exhaling slowly, grounding himself. His face felt a little hot, and his chest on the uncomfortable side of too tight, but he knew that neither the temperature nor the rough fabric was to blame. Thankfully, he was getting old, and he didn’t have to worry about sprouting a boner—for now.

Peter gasped as his thumbs dug in a knot to the left of his spine. “Wow. You’re so—This feels good.”

His voice was a little muffled by the sheets. Tony nodded to himself and added a little more pressure. He wanted the kid to enjoy himself, after all. He had plenty of muscles, more than enough to do the job.

“So, about our upcoming trip…”

He told himself that he wouldn’t cross any other line. A massage between friends—that was all this was. And if he had to think a little too hard on the advanced physics required for time travel and give the kid more explanations than was strictly necessary, well, Peter didn’t have any trouble keeping up with him. The kid understood him like no else ever had. He knew him. He’d proven time and time again that he could take whatever Tony dished at him.

 _He could take you_ , a little voice whispered at the back of his mind.

Tony tried to gag it, but the mental imagery didn’t exactly help. Moreover, Peter was being vocal about his pleasure, the pleasure of being treated to a massage, and Tony wasn’t thinking about how easy it would be to slip a hand into those breeches and caress that pert ass, how much louder Peter would get if he pressed his oily fingers into his crack and massaged another part of him instead…

“… feels good for you too, uh?” Peter said with a note of shyness.

Tony hummed automatically in acknowledgment, slowly rewinding the words for meaning. Back. Pause. Play. When he finally realized what the kid was getting at, he froze.

He was hard. 

And Peter, of course, had noticed. And going by the way he was slowly but surely tearing the sheets apart, he was trying very, very hard to contain a reaction.

Half of Tony really wanted to know what kind of reaction it was. The other half was fucking terrified it knew already. He tried to say something, anything, but no words came out. Slowly, as if too sudden a motion might send Peter running away from him, he lifted his hips, fully intent to back away as far as the room’s dimensions allowed it.

Peter didn’t let him leave the bed: flipping onto his back in a flash, he yanked Tony back by a fistful of tunic and pulled him back atop him. They remained like this for a little while, noses brushing, mouths temptingly close to kiss.

“Don’t you dare leave me like this,” Peter said, the words half a plea, half a threat.

Tony felt a matching erection pressing into his hip. Whatever reserves—hell, whatever manners—he’d been holding on to promptly fled through the windows. Peter was looking up at him like he was holding the key to his sanity, and Tony, well, he felt exactly the same. Staring into those wide brown eyes, parsing the heated depths for any sign that this wasn’t what Peter truly wanted, he leaned in slowly, telegraphing his intentions so clearly he may as well say a few chosen words, while he was at it.

“I’m not leaving unless you ask me to,” he said very seriously. “I’m always here for you, Pete. Any time. Anywhere.”

With a pained sound, Peter grabbed him by the back of the head and brought him in for a bruising kiss. Tony surrendered to it all too willingly, licking into Peter’s mouth and then sucking on his tongue with gusto. The kid could take it, oh yes. And it was him who took the lead afterwards, maneuvering Tony onto his back and ripping at every single piece of clothing on his body. 

Tony hadn’t felt so desirable in decades. It might be short-circuiting a crucial part of his brain, because he didn’t even offer to get Peter naked. Not that the kid left him much time to squeeze in an invitation, getting rid of his breeches like the leather was on fire, and every second counted. The minute his cock bobbed free, already glistening at the tip and so very pretty, like every other part of him, Tony wanted it in his mouth, yearned for it all: the weight on his tongue, the velvety heat, the _taste_ of him. An eventual ache in his jaw, too. He found himself considering how much he’d like to kneel under Peter’s workstation in _their_ lab and offer that mouth-watering cock a nice place to rest and stay warm… Later on, after the initial exploration, he’d be _delighted_ to service Peter like that.

“I want you so much, Tony.” Peter’s voice went soft, like the words might get stuck in his throat otherwise. “Earlier, when you… You started to rub yourself against—I mean into—It was…Fuck. I wish we’d been already naked then, and that I… and so, you know, you could have just… there.”

“I know,” Tony said, and he sounded just as pained. “We don’t have the good stuff here, unfortunately.” He cupped Peter’s face, awed by the intensity of his longing. He’d done that. Somehow, he’d inspired in the kid the kind of heavy fireworks currently going off in his chest. “But we can still have some fun, my Lord.”

“Oh,” Peter said faintly.

Tony sat up and reached for the vial. Watching Peter without schooling his own expression any, he poured some more oil into his palm and reached for his cock, slicking it up just slow enough for the kid to squirm a bit. Fuck, he really was looking forward to more of this. Preferably, in a time when actual lube and hot showers existed. 

“I’d love to blow you later, if you don’t mind,” he said, pitching his voice low on purpose.

Peter’s eyes widened, and his lips parted on a shaky exhale at the first touch to his cock. Tony wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing gently, and then proceeded to massage the whole length, working the oil into the velvety skin.

The moment his thumb brushed the tip, Peter came with a muffled shout over his hand. Tony turned down his cute attempt at an apology with a long, languid kiss, and used the come to ease the glide some more, marveling as Peter’s dick filled out again in his hand. “So pretty.” He looked the kid in the eye and felt his grip go slack for a moment. The future could wait. “You’re so… Peter, I love you.”

“I love you,” Peter said at once, with the exact tone he used to give orders as a lord.

Tony didn’t think he could feel even more overwhelmed, but those precious three words made it happen. He barely had time to marvel at them before Peter pushed him back with the barest nudge, and of fucking course, the display of super-strength went straight to Tony’s dick. The kid didn’t lose any time teasing him: he crawled back and settled in between Tony’s thighs, diving straight for his cock. Tony spared a second to wonder if he was going into cardiac arrest, because the sight of Peter’s lips wrapping around his dick certainly made him feel that way. He reached for Peter’s head with a trembling hand and simply left it there. An anchor. Another angle from which to feel the raw, glorious enthusiasm with which Peter was conveying his affection. He'd always been an angel in Tony's eyes, but he looked very much like the devil right now, brown eyes afire with desire, red lips sinfully wet and stretched wide around his cock. Tony was pushing fifty and he knew he wasn’t going to last.

So, he didn’t.

They were snuggling, Peter giggling and Tony grinning like a loon, when a knock sounded at the door.

“My lord? My lord, are you all well?”

Fuck! Tony scrambled to a sitting position. He couldn’t believe he’d been so distracted he hadn’t given Peter a proper update yet. Their ticket home wasn’t exactly the punch-it-and-be-done-with-it type. Tony had been well aware of it, but he’d completely ignored it in favor of—

He and Peter glanced at the window in unison. 

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?”

The corner of Peter’s lips curled up in a wicked smile. “If you’re referring to our window of opportunity, I believe we are.”

Tony grinned, heart pounding for a whole new reason. Of course, he’d been distracted. Peter had just confessed he loved _him_. And really, there was no reason to worry: between the two of them, they’d figure out the last details of their journey on the way to the barn.

Tony pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his lover’s mouth.

“Then let’s make a run for it, my lord.” 

Time, after all, was of the essence.


End file.
